T'was the Day Before Christmas
by Matroushka
Summary: Ron wants to make Christmas special for Harry, but his attempt goes disastrously awry. Written for the fic exchange on Bestmates Xmas lj community. HP RW slash.


-----

_T'was the day before Christmas; it wasn't a joke,_

_The dinner was ruined, the house full of smoke._

_His carefully laid plans had been knocked on the head,_

_He stared at the wreckage and wished he was dead..._

-----

Ron sat, his elbows resting on the table, his chin cupped in his hands as he stared blankly at the tabletop. Harry would be home soon, and he would go absolutely ballistic.

The kitchen was a disaster area. A thin layer of greasy, smoky ash covered everything. There was an inch of murky water on the floor. All the windows and the back door were propped wide open, but the room still stank of burnt...everything. Burnt food, burnt tea towels, burnt pots and pans. Actually, he was a bit singed around the edges, himself.

He shivered as a gust of wind brought a flurry of snowflakes dancing in through the back door. It was going to be a white Christmas. Harry loved those. Ron sighed.

"Merry fucking Christmas," he muttered as his gaze roamed the kitchen. He had the vague idea that he really should try to clean it up, but he couldn't summon up the energy. He'd had enough. Maybe if he got drunk enough he would pass out, and when he woke up it would all be over. He snorted. It was all over, anyway. And it had sounded like such a good idea. How on earth had it all gone so wrong?

It was his own fault. He had been the one who had asked Hermione for advice, after all. He should never have listened to her when she suggested that he cook a special Christmas dinner the Muggle way. Ron was a terrible cook, even using magic. Without it, well... He surveyed the wreckage and winced. He had tried to get out of it, pointing out that they were going to the Burrow for Christmas dinner, but Hermione had just tutted at him and said he could do it on Christmas Eve. Make it a special night for just the two of you, she'd said. Harry will definitely get the message, she'd said. I think you'll be surprised at how well it'll go, she'd said. Fat lot she knew.

And then she'd buggered off to Australia to visit her mum and dad, who'd decided they loved the place and wanted to stay. In fact, Hermione had told him that she was thinking of moving there herself. Apparently the wizarding community there was very forward thinking. And she assured Ron that it had nothing at all to do with Gerald. Or Jeremy. Or whatever the hell his name was. Despite the fact that she blushed whenever she talked about him.

Ron wished her all the best with that, he really did. Though it wouldn't have killed her to be a bit more forthcoming with information before she went. Handing him a shopping list and a Muggle cookbook and saying good luck on her way out the door hadn't been as helpful as it could have been. Probably had her mind on Jeremy. Or Gerald. Not that Ron was jealous, or pining, or any of that rubbish, no matter what his stupid sister kept telling Harry. All right, it irked him a bit that she'd moved on so quickly, Ron had to admit. But really, he should be grateful. He really was happy for her. And she'd been very good about it all. Hadn't told a soul the real reason they had split up. Ron didn't think he could have been that generous. If Hermione had been the one who'd called out Harry's name while they were...

Ron groaned. "Kill me now," he muttered as he picked up the Firewhisky bottle and took a swig. That was just what he needed. To be reminded of the most embarrassing moment of his life while sitting in the middle of a disaster zone that was rapidly becoming second on the list.

He was bloody lucky she hadn't hexed his bollocks off, all things considered. But then that was Hermione all over. She hadn't even seemed all that surprised, really. She'd been very calm, and had sat him down and made him talk about it. Ron shuddered at the memory. To be honest, he'd have preferred the hexing. She'd made him talk about his feelings while she'd analysed and rationalised and categorised it all. And he couldn't refuse. Not after what he'd done. He owed her that much because he knew her well enough to know that it was her way of dealing with it. And then finally, mercifully, she'd stopped talking and hugged him. And that's when she'd told him that she'd always had her suspicions, and said that he needed to be honest and talk to Harry about it. She seemed to think he'd want to know.

Oh yeah, that was a brilliant idea. Ron could just imagine it._ "Hey, mate. Just thought you should know that I can't get it up unless I'm thinking about you._" Yeah, that was a conversation Ron _really_ wanted to have. The next time he wanted his best mate to punch his lights out, he'd get right on it. Because despite Hermione's constant assurances to the contrary, Ron really had trouble believing that Harry would want to hear that.

Hermione had been very persistent, however, and Ron had finally broken down and asked for her advice on the best way to sound Harry out. He should have known it was all going to go wrong. His somewhat optimistic plan for testing out the waters had just gone up in smoke. Literally. He'd be lucky if Harry was still talking to him after what he'd done to the kitchen. Never mind anything else.

Ron raised the bottle to his lips and took a long swallow. Or tried to. All that was left was a tiny dribble; barely a mouthful. He glared at the empty bottle. He couldn't face this sober. Not that he was, exactly. But he certainly wasn't drunk enough to cope with what would happen when Harry got back from visiting Teddy at Andromeda's, and saw the state of the place. There was always the wine that he'd bought to go with dinner; he could drink that. But he felt strangely reluctant to open it. He'd bought that to share with Harry. Besides, a disaster of this magnitude demanded Firewhisky, and lots of it. He pushed himself to his feet and started rummaging through the cupboards. They'd found bottles of Firewhisky in the oddest places in the old Black family house. Sirius had probably stashed them there years ago, and Ron could sympathise with that. He just hoped that they hadn't already found them all.

In desperation he checked the cupboard under the sink, and right at the back he found another bottle. It was covered in dust and cobwebs, but it definitely looked like a Firewhisky bottle. Ron pulled out the cork and sniffed warily. It smelt alcoholic, so he raised the bottle to his lips and took a sip. He blinked, then took a gulp. He had no idea what it was, but it was much better than the cheap Firewhisky he'd just finished off. Smoother, slightly sweet, with an odd spicy flavour and a kick like a hippogriff. He could feel its warmth spreading right through him, blanketing him in a comforting haze. He smiled happily and wandered back to the table, dropping heavily into his chair. He raised the bottle to his lips and took another long swallow, growing more certain by the minute that everything would be just fine.

-----

"What the fuck?"

Ron slowly raised his head. Harry was standing in the open doorway. He looked... Ron licked his lips as something hot curled low in his stomach. He looked edible. Ron's lips curved into a predatory smile as he slowly rose from his chair.

"What the fuck happened in here? Ron? Are you drunk? What have you... Oh, bloody hell. Where did you find that? I thought Sirius got rid of it."

Ron tilted his head. Harry seemed upset about something. Ron's brow furrowed as a little niggly thought tried to push its way through the pleasant haze to the forefront of his mind. But it was drowned out by the thrum of desire that pulsed through him at the sight of...

"Harry."

Ron pitched his voice low as he stalked his prey. He didn't want to scare him off, after all.

Harry looked startled as Ron reached for him. He took a step back, then another, stopping only when his back hit the wall. He held his hands out in front of him as though to fend Ron off, but Ron simply slipped his hands around Harry's wrists and pinned them to the wall. Then he leant in and nuzzled at Harry's throat. He smelt delicious. He slowly licked the flesh and revelled in the taste as he felt Harry shudder against him.

"Ron, listen to me, you've -"

"What the hell are you doing, Ron? Get off him this minute."

A flash of irritation shot through him. He knew that voice. His sister, the interloper. She would definitely have to go.

"Fuck off, Ginny," Ron growled. Then he turned his attention back to Harry, who had a rather odd look on his face. Ron gave him an encouraging smile as he continued, "He doesn't want you. And I had him first, so that makes him mine. Isn't that right, mate?"

"Um, look, Ginny, you should probably go. He's not himself. I'll sort him out," Harry said.

"Yeah, Harry can sort me out," Ron agreed, giving Harry a lascivious wink.

Harry looked rather flustered. He licked his lips, and Ron thought it was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen in his life. He was just about to share this interesting fact when his sister started squawking again.

"He's gone mad, Harry. Either that or he's drunk. I'm not leaving you alone with him."

"Don't you ever fucking shut up?" Ron said wearily as her voice jangled against his nerves. "You lost, Gin. Deal with it."

"You... You... How dare you!"

"Ron, just shut up for a minute," Harry snapped. Then he turned his head towards Ginny and said, "He's really not himself, Ginny. You should go home."

"Yeah, you should go home," Ron echoed helpfully, grinning widely when Harry glared at him.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Ron! Well, too bad, because I'm not going anywhere."

There was a sudden flash of red spell light, and Ron felt it wash over him ineffectually. He turned his head to see Ginny staring at him in shock, her wand trembling in her shaking hand.

"Go. Away."

Ron wanted her gone. Now. A wind seemed to spring up from nowhere, and Ginny suddenly vanished. Ron smiled and turned his attention back to Harry.

"That's better," Ron said softly as he buried his face against Harry's neck once more. Harry's scent was driving him insane, and the way he kept wriggling, straining against him was... "Fucking brilliant," Ron groaned as he pressed himself more tightly against Harry.

"Ron! Fucking pack it in and listen to me, will you? Where's Ginny? What did you do?"

"I sent her home," Ron mumbled against Harry's neck.

Harry stilled, and Ron made a noise of protest. Unless Harry had taken to storing his wand down the front of his trousers, he was obviously enjoying himself, too. So Ron couldn't understand why he'd suddenly stopped moving.

"Don't stop, mate, that's brilliant," Ron prompted with a little roll of his hips. Harry didn't budge, so Ron raised his head from where he'd been feasting on Harry's neck, and realised that Harry was still talking.

"...mean you sent her home? Ron? Ron, are you listening to me?"

Ron blinked slowly, then focused his attention on Harry's face. He looked flushed, and his eyes seemed to be sparkling.

"Your eyes are very pretty," Ron said slowly. "And you smell really, really good. In fact, you're fucking gorgeous." And then he grinned when he saw Harry widen his eyes, his cheeks staining an even darker red as his jaw dropped. Harry snapped his mouth shut and shot a glare at Ron.

"I told you to pack it in. Now, where's your sister? What did you do with her?"

Ron grimaced. He didn't want to talk about his sister, and he felt a bit put out that Harry kept harping on about her.

"I told you. She was annoying me, so I sent her home," he said sulkily. Harry still looked concerned, so Ron added, "She's fine, honestly. I sent her to the living room of the Burrow."

"Okay. Probably for the best," Harry muttered. Then he looked Ron in the eye and said, "Now listen to me, Ron. No more magic, okay? This is important. Don't even think about using any. Your magic has been affected by the potion you've been drinking."

"No, no, no," Ron said, shaking his head. "You've got it all wrong. I haven't taken any potions. I've just had a few drinks, that's all."

"No, you haven't. I recognise the bottle, and it's definitely not Firewhisky. Judging by the way you're behaving, I'm betting it's the same potion that Sirius told me about. You must have noticed, surely. I mean, you're really not yourself, are you, mate?"

Ron chuckled. "I'm not? Who am I, then?"

"No, that's not what I... It doesn't matter. Ron, listen to me. You need to let me go."

Ron frowned. Harry wanted to go? "You can't go. You can't leave me, Harry. You're mine," Ron said.

"I don't want to leave you," Harry said. "But I think I'd like to sit down. At the table. And then you can tell me what happened this afternoon. You can tell me all about the bottle on the table. How much did you drink? Can you remember?"

Ron huffed loudly. He wanted to concentrate on the heat of Harry's body against his, and watch Harry's lips. They were so red and soft looking and Harry kept licking them, and Ron really needed to kiss him, not try to remember stuff. How on earth was he expected to remember how much he'd drunk? But Harry was still talking and talking. Ron wished he'd shut up. There were much more interesting things to do with lips.

"...find the bottle, Ron?"

"What?"

"The bottle. Where did you find it?" Harry said slowly.

"Oh! I remember that," Ron said proudly. "It was in the cupboard under the sink. You see, the turkey caught fire. And it set fire to some other stuff. So I used _Aguamenti_ to try and put it out. But that just made it worse, for some reason, and then lots of other stuff caught fire. Not everything, though, 'cause some things just melted. But anyway, there was an awful lot of smoke and water and burnt stuff everywhere, so I decided I needed a drink. But I ran out of Firewhisky and I looked everywhere for some more, but I couldn't find any. But then, I found some more in the cupboard, so that was good, wasn't it!" he concluded triumphantly. "It's really good stuff, too. Made me feel much better. You should have some. You really need to relax, Harry. You're very tense."

Harry's mouth was hanging open and he made an odd sort of choking noise. He just stared at Ron, a look of disbelief on his face, and finally said, "Right. Okay. Fine. That's a really good idea. Let's have a drink, Ron. I'd really like to have a look at that bottle, too, so why don't we sit down and you can show it to me."

Ron would have preferred to stay right where he was, with Harry pressed against him, but Harry seemed to have his heart set on sitting down, so Ron gave a reluctant nod.

"Okay, but you have to promise you won't leave. I want you to stay here, with me."

"I promise," Harry said quickly, so Ron released Harry's wrists, slipped an arm around him and shepherded him to the table. Harry seemed to be acting a little oddly, in Ron's opinion. Probably a bit stressed from having to put up with his sister, he decided. But Ron would take care of him.

Once Harry was sitting at the table, Ron sat next to him, picked up the dusty bottle and offered it to Harry.

Ron watched as Harry carefully examined the bottle. He seemed a bit upset after he'd wiped the dust off the label, swearing under his breath and shaking his head. After a moment he said, "I really hoped I was wrong, but it doesn't look like it. I could have sworn that Sirius threw this out, though."

"Maybe it's a different one, then," Ron suggested helpfully.

Harry took a sniff, then a tiny sip of the drink. "No. Well, yes, you're right. It could be a different bottle. But it's definitely the same stuff. I thought it had to be after you just shrugged off Ginny's Stunner and then Banished her home, but I wasn't sure, because of the way you were acting. But it is, which means..." Harry's voice died away. His brow was furrowed and he looked like he was thinking about something. After a few moments he said, "How do you feel, Ron?"

"Great! I feel really, really great."

"I'm sure you do," Harry said, glancing meaningfully at the bottle. "But that's not what I meant. I mean...about me. How do you feel about me?"

Ron grinned as he swayed towards Harry and bumped him playfully with his shoulder. "I fancy the arse off you, you prat," he said. "You know that."

"I do?"

Harry looked surprised, which confused Ron, somewhat. How could he not know that? Ron furrowed his brow in concentration. His head still felt fuzzy and buzzy and his thoughts flitted about and skittered away as he tried to grasp them. Which made it rather difficult to remember things. Was it possible that he hadn't told Harry how he felt about him? That thought seemed to dislodge something, and Ron said slowly, "I've fancied you for ages, but..." He frowned, and after a moment said, "I haven't told you that for some reason. I think it's a secret, but I can't remember why." He tapped his fingers on the tabletop as he struggled to remember more. Hermione's face swam to the forefront of his mind, and he briefly grasped another snippet of information. "I think that's why me and Hermione broke up. I sort of remember her saying something about not telling anyone. But... Oh! She said I could tell you. I remember her saying that. So that's okay, 'cause I've told you now, right?"

Harry nodded slowly. He had a little smile on his face as he said, "Yeah, you've told me now, Ron."

"Brilliant! Well, that's that sorted out, then," Ron said with the air of someone thoroughly satisfied with a job well done. "But I tell you what, mate. All this remembering is bloody hard work. I think that calls for a drink."

Ron reached for the bottle, but Harry grabbed it first. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said. "It's not Firewhisky, remember?"

Ron shot him a scathing look. "Of course I remember. It's a hundred times better than bloody Firewhisky. If you tried it, you'd never get them confused. And that reminds me. You promised to have a drink with me and you haven't, yet. That's not on, mate. Got to be sociable."

Harry sighed loudly. "It's not getting through, is it? I swear, Ron, when this stuff wears off you and me are going to have a serious talk about the dangers of drinking out of strange bottles you find hidden away in the back of cupboards."

Ron just grinned and rolled his eyes. Harry seriously needed a few drinks inside him, in Ron's opinion. But he seemed dead set against the nice bottle Ron had found. He suddenly remembered the wine that he'd bought to go with dinner and pushed himself to his feet.

"How about some wine, then?" Ron said. "I bought it to go with dinner, but..." He looked sadly around the room, the wine suddenly forgotten as he remembered the earlier disaster. "It was going to be a really nice dinner, too," Ron said with a sigh. He walked over to the sink and glared dejectedly at the soggy remains of their special dinner that he'd dumped there.

"Looks like you were going all out."

Ron turned his head to see Harry standing just behind him. He had a look of dismay on his face as he stared at the overflowing sink.

"Yeah. It was Hermione's idea. She said I should cook you a really nice dinner the Muggle way. Said you'd appreciate it."

"It was a lovely thought, Ron," Harry said as he stared at the debris. "But I really can't believe that Hermione suggested you cook something. What on earth was she thinking?"

"Beats me," Ron admitted. "Think she'd know better by now, really."

Harry moved closer and picked up a fork. He poked experimentally at the ex-turkey and said, "Ah, there's your problem. You're supposed to take it out of the plastic, first."

Ron frowned. "I knew I shouldn't have listened to her," he said after a moment. "She didn't say anything about plastic, and it wasn't in the book. How am I supposed to know these things? And what was it doing on the turkey in the first place?"

"Muggles wrap things in plastic to keep them clean," Harry said. "But it melts if you set fire to it. Smells horrible."

"Yeah, it did. There were clouds of black smoke, too. Nearly choked to death."

"What happened to the pans?"

"Vegetables. See, the turkey caught fire first, and while I was trying to sort that out, the vegetables boiled dry. And then the water spread the fire and all this stuff," Ron waved his hand vaguely at the burnt and melted objects that littered the kitchen, "caught fire, too. There was grease and smoke and burning stuff everywhere. It was horrible, mate."

Harry made a strangled, snorting noise and his shoulders began shaking convulsively. Ron immediately stepped closer and put a hand on his arm as he said, "Harry? You okay?"

A howl of laughter escaped Harry's lips and he collapsed helplessly against Ron as he laughed hysterically. Ron felt vaguely insulted that Harry seemed to find his traumatic day so funny, although he had to admit, if it had happened to someone else, he'd be laughing like a hyena.

"Sorry...sorry," Harry choked out as he gasped for breath, and Ron found himself chuckling, too. It was pretty funny when you thought about it. Harry was still leaning against him and Ron, never one to waste an opportunity, slipped an arm around him and pulled him close.

Harry finally managed to regain control of himself, and he wiped his eyes as he said, "I'm so sorry, Ron. I wasn't laughing at you, honestly."

Harry raised his head, and Ron felt a funny little fluttering in his chest that made it suddenly hard to breathe. Harry's eyes were sparkling and he looked flushed from laughing so hard, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to lean in and kiss him. Harry seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then Ron felt Harry's arms slip around his neck, pulling him closer as his lips parted, tilting his head slightly so they could deepen the kiss. Ron could happily have spent the rest of his life in the middle of the kitchen, kissing Harry, so he gave a little moan of protest when Harry broke the kiss and gently pushed him away.

"No, don't," Ron whined as he tried to pull Harry back into another kiss, but Harry planted his hands firmly against Ron's chest.

"You need to have a shower and get changed, Ron," Harry said. "It's freezing in here and you'll catch your death. Your clothes are wet, and you're covered in grease and muck. We need to give your hair a good scrub, too. It's all clumpy at the back. It looks burnt, and there's something slimy in it."

Ron blinked. "Okay," he said. After all, if Harry thought he needed a shower, he probably did. Then he took a good look at Harry and giggled. "Actually, you need one now, too."

Where he'd been pressed against Ron, Harry was covered in soot. And his face had black streaks on it, too. Harry looked down at his clothes and grimaced.

"You're right. We could both do with a shower."

Ron liked that idea. A lot. In fact, Ron decided, sharing a shower with a naked, wet and slippery Harry was probably the best idea he had ever heard. He grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him out of the kitchen. They'd got as far as the top of the stairs when Harry suddenly dug his heels in. Ron shot him a pleading look, but Harry raised a hand in a quelling motion.

"Just hold on a minute, Ron. I need to ask you something."

Ron exhaled loudly. He felt like banging his head against the wall in frustration. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to get naked. Now. He felt like he'd been hard forever, and his cock was definitely unhappy at the prospect of having its wet, soapy fun taken away.

"We can talk afterwards," Ron said as he tightened his grasp on Harry's hand and gave a sharp tug. Harry stumbled forwards, straight into Ron's arms, and Ron slid his hands down Harry's back to cup his buttocks, pulling him closer. "I really, really want you," Ron murmured as he nuzzled Harry's ear. "We can have a nice, relaxing shower together. You'd like that, wouldn't you? You and me, all wet and slippery together."

"You've got no idea," Harry said softly. Then he leant back and raised his head, looking Ron in the eye as he said, "Is this what you really want, Ron?"

Ron blinked at the seriousness of Harry's tone. The fuzziness in his head had faded just enough for him to realise that Harry wasn't simply talking about them having a shower together. He nodded gravely and said, "For a long, long time, mate."

Harry just stared at him as though weighing Ron's words and the intention behind them. Finally, Harry gave a nod and said, "Okay. We should use the shower in my room, then."

"Anything you want," Ron said, grinning widely as relief flooded through him. He hugged Harry tightly, then grabbed his hand and towed him enthusiastically towards the bedroom door. He heard Harry chuckle, and Ron's smile grew even brighter. It had all got a bit intense there for a minute. Ron had the feeling that something really important had just happened, but he wasn't altogether certain why that was. Thoughts of naked Harry filled his head, and nothing else really seemed to matter.

They piled into the tiny ensuite bathroom and began undressing. Ron made the mistake of trying to take his jeans off without removing his shoes, and ended up hopping about madly as he tugged frantically at them, almost ending up on his arse on the bathroom floor. Harry dissolved into a fit of giggles, but Ron forgave him when Harry helped him drag off the soggy, greasy trainers and filthy jeans so that Ron was finally, gloriously naked. Laughing giddily, they huddled together under the shower spray while they scrubbed at the greasy residue in between sharing kisses, and Ron could honestly say he'd never been happier in his entire life. Harry was slippery and soapy and rubbing up against him as they kissed, and Ron would cheerfully set fire to the kitchen every day of the week if this was the result.

Finally declaring them both grease and soot free, Harry turned off the shower and grabbed a couple of towels. He handed one to Ron, who hastily dried himself and then scrubbed vigorously at his hair before abandoning the towel in favour of grabbing Harry and kissing him again.

They stumbled out into the bedroom, still kissing, and fell in a tangled heap onto the bed. Ron found himself pinned under Harry, who seemed to know exactly what he was doing. Which was quite a relief, really. Ron had imagined this. Fantasised about it rather a lot, in fact. But he had no actual, practical experience. Not with a bloke, at any rate, though he rather hoped that would change any second now.

"Not sure what I'm supposed to do here, mate," Ron admitted after a particularly intense kiss that left him aching and desperately wanting more. More of what, though, he wasn't entirely sure.

"What do you want to do?" Harry asked as propped himself up on his forearms, his face hovering so closely over Ron's that Ron knew he could see him clearly, even without his glasses. His voice sounded deeper and huskier than it usually did, seeming to melt over Ron in a way that made him shiver. "We can do anything you want, Ron. We can just keep doing this, if you like," he rocked his hips and Ron moaned at the delicious friction, "or we can use our hands. Or I can suck you off. Or fuck you. Or you can fuck me."

Ron made a strangled little sound at the back of his throat and Harry immediately stopped moving. Ron closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. He felt like he'd been hard for hours, and Harry's words had almost tipped him over the edge. After a moment he said, "It's okay." Then he grinned sheepishly and added, "Fuck, just listening to you say all that stuff nearly did me in, mate."

"Imagine how much better actually doing it will be, then," Harry said, waggling his eyebrows.

Ron gave a snort of laughter. "I'm trying really hard not to. Not if I don't want to come right this second."

"Oh, I'll make sure you last longer than that," Harry said softly. "Because I do know what I'm doing here, Ron."

The random thought that Hermione had obviously known more about Harry than she'd let on drifted away as Harry closed the tiny distance between them and claimed Ron's mouth in a searing kiss. And it soon became clear to Ron that Harry actually did know what he was doing. He really, really did. Ron spread his legs and raised his knees at Harry's urging, then twisted his hands in the sheets to stop himself grabbing Harry's head as Harry showed him exactly how much he knew. Harry's tongue was a wicked thing, hot and slippery and it did sinful things to him that Ron knew would fuel his wanking fantasies for a very long time to come.

"Please, Harry, pleasepleasepleaseohbloodyfuckplease..."

Ron was teetering on a knife-edge. Every muscle, every fibre straining as something sharp and desperate coiled impossibly tighter and tighter until it finally, gloriously snapped and swept him away in a maelstrom that roared in his ears even as fireworks exploded in his head, sending wave after wave of shivery sparks flooding through him. Ron reached out desperately, and strong arms gathered him up and held him tightly as Harry groaned loudly and wet heat flooded between them.

Ron slumped, gasping for breath as Harry held him through the aftershocks that had him shuddering helplessly. When Ron had finally calmed enough to open his eyes, he saw Harry smiling at him.

"I can't feel my toes," Ron said. He felt as though every nerve in his body had been overloaded and had shut down, leaving only a faint buzzy sensation that felt decidedly odd. He was certain he'd never come so hard before in his entire life.

"Not surprised, mate. You went off like a rocket," Harry said, smiling smugly.

Ron chuckled sleepily. He felt absolutely exhausted. But then a sudden thought occurred to him.

"What about you? Do you want me to..."

"No need," Harry said as he ran his finger over Ron's stomach. Which was wet and sticky. And that confused Ron for a moment, because he was sure he'd felt Harry's mouth on him, sucking him as he'd come, so how...

"Oh! That's you, then," Ron said. He dipped his finger into one of the cooling droplets and then tentatively tasted it. "You taste the same as me," he said in surprise. And then felt his face heat up as he realised what he'd just said.

"Everybody tastes their own jizz, mate," Harry assured him airily. And then he winked, and Ron couldn't help but snigger.

"We need another shower, now."

"I think I need a nap first," Harry said, yawning widely. Then he grabbed the corner of the sheet and used it to wipe Ron's stomach before quickly cleaning himself off.

That would do for now, Ron decided. He really was far too tired to get up and wash. He'd do it later.

They dragged the duvet up and snuggled beneath it. Ron rubbed his face softly against Harry's hair. Harry felt warm and solid in his arms, if a little sticky, and Ron felt a sudden surge of emotion. He dropped a kiss on the messy head and whispered, "I love you."

"Mmm, love you too, Ron," came the sleepy reply.

Ron smiled as his eyes drifted shut. This was his best Christmas ever.

-----

Ron's eyes fluttered open. The room was in darkness. There was a solid warmth pressed against him, and he hummed contentedly and nestled down again. And then suddenly froze.

"Oh, fuck, no," he whispered. He carefully eased himself away from Harry and slipped out of bed. He made his way to his own room, grabbed his dressing gown and shrugged it on, and then headed down to the kitchen.

He pushed open the kitchen door, then stood in the doorway blinking stupidly as he stared around. The room was spotless.

"What the fuck..."

He frowned, and then huffed softly as he shook his head. Of course, he should have remembered. Kreacher. He'd told him to take the day off, but the house elf had obviously seen the mess and felt compelled to clean it up. Ron only hoped that he hadn't thrown it out. He walked into the middle of the room and looked around. And there it was, next to the sink. The dusty bottle he'd found in the cupboard.

Ron picked it up. The words, _Department of Mysteries. Do Not Remove_, could be seen in faded print on the label. Just below that was written, _Sirius Variant: Restricted_ in faded red ink, and Ron groaned. Bits and pieces of what Harry had tried to tell him floated to the front of his mind. It was a potion. An experimental potion. And he'd insisted that Harry drink it, too. It was all his fault. Except... Ron frowned. He couldn't actually remember Harry drinking any of it. Ron shook his head. That just didn't make sense. He had to have drunk some. Ron carefully put the bottle down, closed his eyes and scrubbed his hands over his face. He had no idea how he was going to fix this.

He glanced at the kitchen clock. Just after eight. In the evening, Ron presumed, as it was still dark. He dragged out a chair and sat down. How could he have been so stupid? Everyone knows that you don't just drink something you find lying around in a cupboard. Especially something you find lying around in a cupboard in Grimmauld Place. It could have been anything... Ron snorted. Bit late to worry about that, now. He'd pounced on Harry the minute he'd walked through the door and... Oh fuck. Ginny.

Ron raised his head, frowning as he looked around. He'd banished her unceremoniously back home. He shouldn't have been able to do that. Any why hadn't she come back with the rest of the family in tow? What if he hadn't sent her home at all? Ron felt the first stirrings of panic. He reached for his wand to light the Floo, and realised that he didn't have it on him. It was still in the pile of wet, dirty clothing on Harry's bathroom floor.

"Fuck it!" Ron muttered. Then he raised his voice. "Kreacher? You around?"

The house elf appeared with a soft pop. "What can Kreacher be doing for Master?"

Ron took a deep breath, then exhaled loudly. "I need you to go to the Burrow and find out what happened to my sister. But I need you to do it discreetly. Can you do that?"

"Of course," the house elf said, the look on his face making it clear that he thought Ron was an idiot. He vanished, and Ron decided he needed something to drink while he waited. Preferably something non-alcoholic, and definitely not produced by the Department of Mysteries. He'd just opened a bottle of Butterbeer when Kreacher reappeared.

"Master's sister is at his Burrow, asleep. Kreacher listened to Master's family talking. She is acting odd when she suddenly is home, so Master's mother gives her sleeping potion. Is there anything else Master requires of Kreacher?"

Ron shook his head. "No. Thanks, Kreacher."

Kreacher inclined his head and vanished, and Ron gave a sigh of relief. That was one less thing to worry about. Until she woke up tomorrow morning, anyway. He took a swig of his Butterbeer. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to Harry's bedroom and talk to him. But he knew he had to. Maybe he could persuade Harry that everything they'd done was down to the potion. After all, Harry had been very enthusiastic, himself. So it was obviously something in the potion. It wasn't their fault. He had to make Harry see that. He couldn't bear it if Harry pushed him away, or asked him to leave. If he couldn't have him, at least he could still have his friendship. Although Ron wasn't altogether certain that that would be enough any more.

He took another swig of his Butterbeer, then dumped the bottle in the middle of the table, pushed himself to his feet, and left the kitchen.

-----

Ron slowly pushed the door open and slipped into the bedroom. He closed the door as quietly as he could, then turned to see Harry sitting up in bed, watching him, and Ron froze.

"I wasn't sure you'd come back. I thought I might have to go and hunt you down," Harry said. "But then I found this," he held up Ron's wand, "when I was looking for mine and knew you'd have to come back sooner or later. So I waited."

"Harry, I..."

Harry tilted his head, and Ron faltered under the weight of his steady gaze. He leant back against the door and let his head fall forward. He couldn't meet Harry's eyes. There was something so intense in them, some emotion that Ron couldn't read, and it unnerved him.

After a moment, Harry sighed and said, "Let me guess. It was the potion. Neither of us was in our right minds. We should just put this behind us and forget all about it. Is that what you were going to say, Ron?"

Ron looked up. That was exactly what he wanted to say. Well, not wanted. Had to, if he wanted to salvage something of their friendship. He nodded slowly.

Harry sighed audibly. "Come and sit down, Ron. I need to tell you something."

Ron sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, and Harry shuffled closer.

"Look, Ron. The thing is..." Harry's voice died away, and he huffed loudly. "I have no idea where to start. I know you don't remember everything yet, but you will. Sirius said it took a while after the potion wore off for all the memories to return."

Ron's eyes widened in alarm. There was more? What he'd remembered so far had been bad enough. He'd pounced on Harry the minute he'd walked into the kitchen and pinned him to the wall. He felt his face heat up as he remembered grinding against Harry while he sucked on his neck. In front of his sister. He swallowed hard. Of course there was more. There had to be. Because they'd somehow ended up in bed together. A little shiver ran through him at the memory of snuggling up to a very naked Harry. Who seemed strangely calm, now that Ron thought about it. He realised that Harry had started speaking again, and that he'd completely missed what he'd said.

"Sorry, mate. My head's all over the place. What did you say?"

Harry smiled and said, "That's okay, Ron. I was just explaining about the potion you drank. I came across a bottle of it a few years ago, and Sirius told me that my mum made it. She was a potions researcher, and she named it after him as a joke because she said that anyone who drank it acted just like he does. Did. He thought it was hilarious so she gave him some as a souvenir, as long as he promised not to use it on anybody."

Ron's brow furrowed. Why on earth would anyone make a potion to turn someone into Sirius Black? He hadn't realised that he'd voiced that thought until he heard Harry laugh.

"She didn't do it on purpose. It was a failed experiment. She wouldn't tell Sirius what she was actually trying to make. Said it was classified information."

Ron nodded. The Department of Mysteries was as bad as the Unspeakables. Everything they did was classified as top secret.

"So, um, what does the potion actually do, then?" Ron asked hesitantly.

"Well, it makes your magic wildly unpredictable. And when you drink it you feel really, really good. Nothing bothers you." At Ron's rueful nod, Harry continued, "But the main effect it has, the one that made my Mum name it after Sirius, is that it completely removes your inhibitions. You act on every impulse without thought for the consequences. If there's something you want to do, you just do it. But that's all it does." Harry paused. "You didn't do a single thing that you didn't want to do, Ron. And neither did I."

"But..." Ron snapped his mouth shut. His mind was working furiously. It seemed that, with every minute that passed, more and more memories emerged. He remembered kissing Harry in the kitchen. Harry pulling Ron's soggy jeans off. Harry laughing as Ron discovered how ticklish he was under the arms while he was washing him in the shower. Harry pinning him to the bed and... Ron felt as though he was drowning under the onslaught of memories while Harry's words played out in his head again and again.

_"You didn't do a single thing that you didn't want to do."_

"You're not the only one who was too scared of losing his best friend to push for anything more, Ron."

Harry's voice pulled Ron out of his whirling thoughts, and he looked up to see that Harry was watching him. Harry's gaze seemed to bore into him as though searching for something, and suddenly Ron knew that he couldn't deny how he felt. Because he couldn't go back to just being Harry's best mate any more. And as he looked at Harry, really looked at him and saw the expression on his face, the desperate plea in his eyes, he knew that Harry didn't want that, either.

"Everything we said. Everything we did. It was what we both wanted," Harry said, and Ron clearly heard the hopeful note in his voice.

Ron slowly nodded. He should say something, he knew that. But words stubbornly refused to come. His chest felt tight and his heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. Ron swallowed hard. "I - I'm not sure -"

Warm fingers were placed on his lips, cutting off his words. And he suddenly noticed how very close Harry was. He'd moved while Ron had been lost in his thoughts and was now kneeling on the bed next to him. Naked. Vulnerable.

"Say yes," Harry whispered.

And then the fingers were gone, only to be replaced by something softer, warmer. Harry's lips, Ron realised, and he reached out blindly and clung to the one, solid thing that would keep him here, in this moment. Harry felt perfect against him, and Ron was certain that he would die a happy man if he could spend the rest of his life just like this. Holding Harry close and kissing him.

"Do you want me, Ron?" Harry asked softly, and Ron didn't even hesitate.

"Yes. Always," Ron whispered against Harry's hair.

Very little was said after that. Ron had always firmly believed that actions spoke louder than words. As Harry gasped and moaned and shuddered beneath him, spreading himself wider, trying to pull Ron in deeper, he knew they were saying more than words ever could. Every caress whispered love, and every kiss spoke of forever.

Tomorrow would be awkward to say the least, but Ron was tired of pretending. And anyway, it wouldn't be the first time someone had dropped a bombshell in the middle of Christmas lunch at the Burrow. Ginny would be upset and angry; that was a given. But he didn't think anyone else would be terribly surprised. They'd all made jokes at one time or another about Ron's obsession with Harry. They would probably be teased, but Ron thought that a small price to pay, and knew Harry would agree wholeheartedly. Because they'd be together. The way it was always meant to be. And nothing else mattered.

-----

_ The potion was hidden a long time ago,_

_But Christmas brings miracles, didn't you know?_

_They needed a nudge for their love to take flight,_

_And St. Nick, he took pity on our lovers' plight._

_So let us away as they turn out the light,_

_HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!_

-----

Poetry based on: _T'was the Night Before Christmas_

With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore.


End file.
